


shelter also gave their shade

by getagripdany



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getagripdany/pseuds/getagripdany
Summary: Even though true winter had come, it wasn't as cold north of the Wall as Jon remembered it.





	shelter also gave their shade

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt Jormund sex pollen. Set during season seven.

Even though true winter had come, it wasn't as cold north of the Wall as Jon remembered it. He mentioned this to Tormund as they were scouting a place to take shelter for the night. 

Tormund laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I told you," he said. "You've got the North in you. The true North. You could probably sleep out in this weather and be fine."

"I'd risk it," said Jon, "but we have southerners with us. True southerners, not simply south of the Wall." 

"Aye. They'll all freeze their balls off, unless that boy Gendry takes my advice."

"If you keep provoking him," said Jon, "he will fight you."

Tormund snorted. "Wasn't that advice I meant. This face seems sturdy enough, let's see if there are any caves to be found that haven't been taken over by wolf or bear or giant."

Jon stared after Tormund as he trudged through the snow. They did things differently north of the Wall, he knew, but did Tormund really mean-- 

He thought he could hear Ygritte's voice in the distant wind. Truly, he knew nothing. 

Jon was still thinking about it when he saw a ledge, a tree's roots overhanging it. He pushed the roots aside and sniffed the air. It didn't smell like an animal's den. There was a scent of fir, and of warmth, in it. He whistled the agreed-upon three notes, though only Tormund would be in earshot still, and entered. In the little light that filtered through the roots he could see the space was large enough for all of them to lie down, if not comfortably, and to store their packs besides. The walls and ceiling of the cave were of rock. The roots would offer shelter to whoever was on watch, and though the cave was cool, cool was better than cold, and cold was better than freezing. It grew a bit warmer as he moved deeper in, listening to a low gurgle. There was some kind of spring at the very back. Jon took off his glove, drank some of the water. It was icy but refreshing, with a taste slightly earthen and slightly metallic, and he supposed the contrast between it and the close air, and the heat of the furs he was wearing, made him feel warm. 

"This is nice," Tormund said, from behind him. 

"There's even fresh water," said Jon, "look."

Tormund knelt to stick his face in it, and Jon laughed. "It tastes wrong, drinking water from leather flasks, but all the rivers are iced over." He leaned back, rivulets running down his face and into his beard, and Jon, still thirsty, licked the drops from his skin. 

They both froze in place. "I'm sorry," said Jon. His furs were uncomfortably hot. "I don't know what made me do that."

Tormund closed his eyes, and seemed to be trying to breathe slower. He stood, took off his gloves, and touched the wall. "Did you see this?"

"The design?" Jon put his hand over Tormund's. It was warm. The stone beneath their hands had been gouged out, one long line, two small circles at the bottom. "Someone must have started carving while waiting out a storm. I didn't think anything of it."

"That's not what it is. Didn't Ygritte tell you about--". He sighed. "No, she wouldn't have. Probably hoped you'd drink from the spring with her. Didn't know she wouldn't need the old magics to get you to lie with her."

"I--" He felt that he ought to defend Ygritte, but Tormund was starting to undo his belts and furs. "What are you doing?"

Tormund sighed again and began to undo Jon's as well. It had been a long time since Jon had been touched like that, and it was nice. It was confusing. "That sign marks the springs of the children. They say they're so called because the children of the forest made them, but they also say that if you drink from them, you won't be safe or sated again until you've made a baby."

"I swore to sire no--"

"It's the spirit of the thing."

As hot as Jon was, he could feel himself getting hotter. He'd have asked what Tormund was doing, but he thought he knew: as uncomfortable as the cold was, it'd be a hundred times more uncomfortable to be walking through it with his seed freezing inside his smallclothes. 

Still, the hazy feeling in his head and the urgent one in his breeches told him he ought to kiss Tormund, and he did. It was like kissing Ygritte, and nothing like kissing Ygritte. Tormund was taller, and he had a beard, and he kissed rather less certainly. "The spring is making you do this," he whispered, as Jon kissed his cheeks, his shoulders, what he could reach of his neck without getting a mouthful of beard for his troubles. 

"You said as much," said Jon. Tormund was lean beneath his furs, and he smelt of juniper. "If we have to, we have to. We might as well enjoy it."

"That doesn't sound at all like a crow's perspective," said Tormund, taking hold of Jon's face. 

"I left the Night's Watch," said Jon. "Remember?"

"Do you?" Tormund finally kissed him. Jon let himself be undressed, too carried away by the old magics to feel much embarrassment about the cuts still in his skin, except to shiver when Tormund kissed them. His beard tickled at Jon's belly, and Jon gasped and grabbed his hair. 

"Be careful," Jon said. "My wounds." They'd healed but they never scarred right. He didn't know what the red woman had done to them. Sometimes they felt like they weren't even there, but now they felt cold, even if the rest of him were feverish warm. 

Tormund put his lips to the cut over Jon's heart, and for a moment that didn't feel cold at all. "I'll attend them," he promised, and did, as he made his way down Jon's body. 

When his mouth closed over Jon's cock, Jon was doubly glad they'd taken off all their clothes, or the back of his head would have hit the stone floor of the cave instead of a lump of fur. He imagined that for a second, having survived wights and assassinations and the Battle of the Bastards only to spill his brains out on the floor of an anonymous cave in the north. But, Jon thought, as Tormund's mouth stayed on him, steady and hot and smooth, what a way to die. He'd heard men talk of this, but he'd never had it himself. Never asked Ygritte to do it. It hadn't seemed honorable, not after everything she'd given to him freely, and somehow disrespectful of what they were to one another. He ought to have known the wildlings didn't think of it like that, if the pleasure and pride Tormund took in sucking his cock was any indication. Jon didn't know what to do with his hands, they kept moving with Tormund's head, and he was thinking that sometimes he didn't understand his body at all when his pleasure came upon him like an avalanche. 

"That was wonderful," he told Tormund, when he could talk again. His hands were still in Tormund's hair. "Did you--?"

Tormund looked up at him. Jon felt himself blushing at the heat in his eyes. "No, sweet crow. I didn't finish, since that would have meant fucking your foot, and I don't know if that's a thing in the south--"

"It's not," Jon said hurriedly. "We don't fuck each other's feet. I could," he began, and then felt hot all over again. "I could put my mouth on you. There."

Tormund got up and sat over Jon's hips. His cock was a heavy weight on Jon's stomach as Jon leaned up on his elbows to look Tormund in the eyes. He'd meant what he'd offered. Tormund had given him something precious, though Jon had been dumb enough to get them drunk on a magic spring, and Jon intended to return the favor. 

Tormund cupped the back of Jon's head. "Have you ever sucked cock before?" he asked. 

"No," said Jon. 

"Do you know what it is you do with your tongue? Your hands? Your lips? Your teeth?"

Jon hadn't felt any teeth. "No?"

Tormund kissed Jon then. Jon still didn't feel any teeth. "I appreciate the offer," he said, "but I'd rather neither of us walk out of here bleeding. Give me your hand, crow."

"You have it," Jon said, and Tormund licked a long stripe up the palm. And then along each of the fingers. Jon could feel his cock stirring again, and so could Tormund, if the sharp laugh he let out was any indication. 

"You know how to do this," said Tormund, as he wrapped Jon's hand around his cock. The head of it peeked up between Jon's fingers. He swallowed looking at it, feeling it. It was bigger than his own, that was certain. But Tormund hadn't seemed to mind. 

"I do," said Jon. He started slowly. Maybe Tormund would want a quick release, but that wasn't what he'd given Jon. Jon wanted him to enjoy it, and tried as hard as he could. Tormund lay his head on Jon's shoulder and watched, one hand on the small of Jon's back, the other braced against the furs. His breathing was loud and ragged, and Jon felt proud of that. He liked to be able to do this to Tormund, liked the feeling of Tormund's head against his chin. When he let go long enough to line his own cock against Tormund's, and encircle them both, Tormund bit down at his neck, and Jon shuddered, and tugged harder, and faster, until they were both falling back into the furs, spent. 

Gradually the warmth left his limbs, and the cold came back. It was dark in the cave. Jon didn't know what to do. If Tormund were a woman, he supposed he would have to offer marriage to her, but Tormund wasn't, so he didn't. Besides, now that the spell was passed, he felt more confused than ever. 

"We can't do this again," he said, finally. 

Tormund looked up from the crook of Jon's elbow. "Because your southern ways and gods disapprove?" 

"I serve the same gods you do," said Jon. "No, we can't because I think I'm paying court to Daenerys Targaryen, and I don't mean to be untrue."

"Your dragon queen?" Tormund shook his head. "Careful, little crow. You might get burnt."

"I know," said Jon. "But if you saw her... she's beautiful, like Sansa. And fierce, like Arya. You'd understand."

Tormund raised himself up on one elbow to stare at him. "Aren't Sansa and Arya your sisters?"

At one point Jon might have corrected that they were his half-sisters. But he had so little family left that they all felt closer. "Aye."

"I'm not sure I do understand," said Tormund, and stroked Jon's face with the flat of his hand. Maybe Jon should have compared Dany to Brienne of Tarth instead. "You still ought be careful. Don't get hurt."

They lay there in the furs for a little while longer. Jon realized he still had his hand on Tormund's thigh. "I suppose we'll have to go back to the others and tell them we haven't found anything," he said at last, not wanting to stand up. Not wanting to end this warmth, and Tormund's touch on his face. 

"Suppose so," said Tormund, but he didn't move either.


End file.
